


Rubicon

by koderenn, reylotrashpiler (Hosnianprime)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard AU, Earn Your Happy Ending, F/M, Hospital Scenes, Light Angst, Minor Age Gap, More tags to be added, Mutual Pining, Older Kylo, Older Rey, Politics, President AU, President!Rey, Secret Relationship, Secret Service Agent Kylo Ren, Violence, WIP, mentions of bomb attack, notorious tweet fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-08 02:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koderenn/pseuds/koderenn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosnianprime/pseuds/reylotrashpiler
Summary: It’s lonely at the top.Or at least that’s what Rey experienced when she was sworn into Office. Until…She exits the limo taking his outstretched hand, ready to steady her, and tries to ignore the flutter of her heart at the feel of his warmth. These hands that can make her feel a two hundred degrees in Alaska.“This is dangerous,” he rumbles next to her. “You should have allowed us to drive up to the main entrance. It’s not safe for you.”Their hands slip apart.“Nonsense," she murmurs to him. "I’m not a porcelain doll.” They've been over this. Several times. Her Head of Secret Service is always so protective. So vigilant. His black, immaculate glasses do nothing to hide his concern.Rey waves her hand at the crowd with a wide smile. Her approval rates are off the chart. Better beat the iron as long as it's glowing.“Madame President…”“Kylo, I’ll be fine.” She chides, stealing a glance at him. He clenches his jaw and nods reluctantly.She can tell by the set of his lips that he doesn't like her decision. Maybe, she should have trusted him more.





	1. Only humans, after all

**Author's Note:**

> Rubicon noun (Ru·bi·con | \ ˈrü-bi-ˌkän)
> 
> : a bounding or limiting line especially one that when crossed commits a person irrevocably
> 
> \----------------------  
On hiatus for personal reasons. But we WILL be back and we WILL finish this. In the meantime, read Koderenn's masterful Forbidden! :) 
> 
> ~ reylotrashpiler

Rey can almost taste blood.

But it has nothing to do with her canine breaking the skin of her bottom lip —it all comes from the air, heavy with a metallic smell. The smell of blood, sweat, violence, and inescapable _ loss _. 

Her stomach revolts against the onslaught on her senses. 

The heel of her Louboutin stilettos slips on something wet on the floor. Agent Wexley grasps her firmly by the arm to keep her from falling.

"Careful, Madame President," he murmurs. 

Maybe it's just a play of the harsh, neon lights, but even the impassive face of the deputy lead of her Secret Service - although she probably should, she absolutely refuses to call him the _ head _ \- seems paler than usual. 

She focuses on walking, eyes trained on the white cloak of the doctor in front of them. 

The Chicago Cook County Hospital’s ER looks as insanely busy as she’s heard, but no one could have prepared her for what she’s currently witnessing.

A gurney rushes in front of them, a young unconscious man sprawled on bloody sheets while a medic shouts vitals to the doctor on his side. 

“This way, Madame President," the surgeon instructs them over his shoulder. 

Rey can barely hear his voice as a deafening alarm now blares in resuscitation. Someone calls for atropine and compressions, and a woman wails in a corner to her right. 

Rey looks away immediately.

_ It’s not him... It’s not… _

The unkempt doctor leading her and the agents onward weaves easily between stretchers, stumbling patients, and hurrying nurses, as if medical school had also provided him with the ability to survive a warzone. The emergency room certainly resembles a battlefield to Rey’s eye.

Cook County was one of the first hospitals to receive the victims from the bombings at the IMF Convention at McCormick's Place.

The one she was in the process of attending.

Rey can't help but think that the attack was meant for her. That she should be in one of those gurneys. Or her name on the list of fatalities.

Her privilege and his watchful eyes — not to mention dumb, sheer luck — have shielded her once again.

But so many innocent lives were lost. She feels so disappointed with herself and her administration for failing America this way. How could CIA and FBI not have intercepted any information about the attack?

Rey grits her teeth feeling fury rise inside her.

The attack, instead of frightening her, has only outraged her.

So instead of hiding in her bunker, where protocol demanded her to be, safe and sound and out of sight, she went straight to the hospital. 

The Secret Service was not happy about her decision. But this time, there was no one to question her choice. Unlike yesterday, when… 

Rey wills herself not to dwell on the spark of worry in his dark eyes, the thin line of disapproval on his otherwise plush mouth, as she loudly ignored his advice. 

_ Look where my stubbornness got us, sweetheart... _

Her security team swiftly cleared the hospital's grounds to ensure a safe visit for their President, keeping it as quiet as possible since Rey did not want her presence to interrupt the hospital’s workflow in any way. 

Therefore, Rey reasoned with herself, it was a _ plausible _choice to demand seeing the Head of Secret Service first. One single person, while the doctors tended to the rest of the injured.

Rey’s urgency to rush to the side of her wounded Head of Security caught everyone by surprise. She told Phasma, her PR Manager, to portray her visit to the injured as_ the actions of an empathetic leader. _

Who knows how many that would fool. But she had to try. 

The team was unprepared and off-kilter after the possible assassination attempt, skittish and spooked as they worked to keep her safe on such a simple task as a walk down a hospital’s corridor.

"Where is he?” She demands. Her lungs are on fire and her heels click furiously on the worn out floor of the emergency room as she follows the doctor’s lead. 

The surgeon turns to regard her, easily dodging a patient with head trauma vomiting his way. 

Rey falters a little but doesn't lose her footing.

“He’s been moved to Thoracic until the chopper arrives for the transfer. He’s stable at the moment but I can’t guarantee he’ll make it through the trip to DC. His spleen is pretty beat up.”

“What… what do you mean?” The crack in her voice betrays her.

The doctor halts in front of the battered steel door of an elevator, pressing the call button relentlessly until the doors slide open.

“Could it be any slower?” He grumbles to himself as he steps in, gesturing for them to follow quickly. Rey squeezes in along with two members of her detail. 

“He’s got fractured ribs and hemopneumothorax from the impact, as well as a subcapsular hematoma of the spleen which is very unpredictable. Not to mention the concussion and..."

“Hemopneumo… I don’t understand,” Rey shakes her head in agitation. There’s a buzzing in her ears that she swears is coming from the elevator’s flickering lights, but it could also be the beginnings of a panic attack. “You’ll have to speak in English, doctor.”

“His left lung has been punctured. His chest cavity is filled with air and blood, which do not allow it to expand with breathing. But a billow catheter is already draining that,” the doctor pushes his sliding glasses up his nose nervously, then adds, "The problem is that the spleen can rupture at any given minute.”

Rey glares a hole into his head as the doctor avoids her gaze.

“Will he _ live _?" she asks, enunciating every word. The hammering of her heart must surely be audible to everyone in the room.

The doctor coughs, still not meeting her eyes. "I believe so."

The doors slide open, releasing him from her stare. They file out as a nurse comes up to greet them.

"Vitals on Mr. Ren, Marie?" the doctor asks. 

The nurse falls in step swiftly, reading from a chart. 

"BP 95 over 72, heart rate at 118 and this…" she flips a page pointing at something "...is his blood count. It just came in."

The doctor frowns, then exchanges a look with the nurse that Rey does not like. 

"Get him typed and matched and order two units of RBCs, stat, and another six on standby for surgery. We’re taking him in," he commands in a clipped tone, pushing open a door to a patient's room with his shoulder.

Rey feels her legs buckle beneath her.

"You have a few minutes at most with him, Madame President, before we operate,” he states, not unkindly, holding the door open for her.

Rey steps inside.

It’s eerily calm in comparison to the crowded, bustling ER and the antiseptic smell of the room makes her instantly nauseous. 

Two plain hospital beds are the first things she sees, one occupied and one not. Two bedside tables and a couple of hard plastic chairs are the only other furniture. There’s a window across from her with heavy blue curtains partly draped over it, allowing just a bit of that dreary city light to filter through. 

And, of course, monitors and drips. Small plastic bottles and tubes of all sorts of medicine’s latest accomplishments keeping the man laying on the bed alive.

Because he _ is _alive.

His heavy, dark gaze, trained solely on her above the oxygen mask tells her so.

The door swings shut behind her and Rey flinches. 

Sterile silence falls around them as Rey is left alone with her personal agent, his all-knowing eyes already reading her as the monotonous sound of his vitals beep softly, blinking on the nearby screen. The sound of honking and sirens blaring drift from the city below.

“I thought… you were afraid of hospitals,” his voice is so drained, it nearly sucks her breath away. 

Rey clears her throat and smooths out invisible creases on her pencil skirt. Afraid is not a term she would use. _ Wary _ would be preferable.

But he _ knows. _

“Well, PR has been after me about scheduling visits to hospitals,” she gestures awkwardly in the air. Her voice chokes in the end and tears flood her eyes unbidden, ruining her attempt at levity. “I figured this was a good place to start," she finishes around a lump in her throat. 

He chuckles weakly behind his mask, fog tainting it white, and his breath hitches from the pain.

Rey approaches carefully, trying to keep her eyes trained on his face and not anywhere else. 

But there’s a fucking _ tube _ coming out of his chest and so many IVs are hooked on his arms and he’s as pale as a ghost and he _ cannot _ be lying so helpless and broken on some random hospital bed in the middle of damn Chicago.

_This can't be real. _Not for this man who could run marathons and argue with her choices and kiss her senseless in hidden corners of the White House. 

“Rey?”

Her arms are wrapped around her waist, her lips pressed together tightly and she can feel tears stinging her eyes, about to spill over. 

Too much like her mother. This scene is too familiar, too much like her…

_ No _. She mustn't go down that road.

Rey takes a deep breath to collect herself and wipes her eyes with the tips of her manicured fingers. The last thing she needs now is streaks of mascara running down her face.

_ I just wanna look good for you… _

"What?" she sniffs. There is no real bite in it. 

“Come here."

_ Damn _ that timbre of his voice. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Agent Ren,” she chides haughtily, a ghost of their familiar banter. But he’s smirking at her, and she can barely conceal the curl of her own lips. 

"I don’t need to.”

Because he _ knows. _

There have been so many stolen moments between them. So many insignificant, cherished, guilty little moments spent in each other’s company these past few months while she’s been in office.

Not enough.

_ They can never be enough. _

As if pulled by a magnet, she rushes to him, clutches his outstretched hand, abandons any semblance of control. 

There is no time to waste, no time for games. Not now. 

"The doctor just told me they’re taking you in for surgery any minute now. There’s barely any time for me to see you and…” She stops because her chest throbs and it’s hard to force the words out.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“No.” 

He is not _ fine _ . This whole situation is not _ fine _. Him getting hurt because of her will never be fine and if he doesn’t make it… 

“You don’t _ understand _. That’s not good enough.”

He smiles at her in understanding. 

"Rey, I’ll be back. I promise you.”

“No. You have to _ swear _to me that you will be back!”

These molten eyes roam over her face so tenderly. Rey can't imagine going on without them.

“You know I’ll gladly swear to you any oath you demand of me..." he reassures her, but his voice is growing weak.

She swallows tightly as she sits on the bed, the thin mattress dipping under her weight. Even in this state he’s still grounding her. Comforting her. The way he always has. She brings his hand up to her cheek, savoring his touch.

"I shouldn't be upsetting you…"

It feels so cold against her skin. A tear rolls down her face, then lands with a soft thud on the sheet on his chest. 

More soon follow.

He wipes them away gently with his thumb. She grips his hand - weak and heavy from fighting against a battle that mere mortals never win- bringing it to her lips to set a kiss on his palm. How she loves his scent… every shade of it. 

"How much time do we have?” he whispers.

She sets her fingers on his cool forehead. It’s beading with sweat and she can see his struggle to stay alert for her. His breathing is shallow and quick and his eyes are losing their focus. 

Her bottom lip trembles.

“Not enough, my love,” she whispers back, tightens his hand in her grasp. 

They look at each other for a breathless moment. And Rey feels like she’s finally gifting him with the only strength that he truly needs.

He smiles faintly and closes his eyes.

An alarm goes off.


	2. Kindle

“Agent Ren!”

Two whiskeys and four hours deep in the night, Rey has run out of options. Abuse of power, her feminist voice whispers. She swats it away and takes a drag from her cigarette instead, blowing it out in the crisp spring air, letting it mingle with the heavy scent of blossoms. She stares at the obelisk ahead, illuminated by the impeding morning.

“Yes, Ma'am?” Ren's voice is always professionally accommodating. No matter the hour, Rey knows that he is at her service. Her needs are his needs. Her wishes, his wishes.

Ren never seems to be anything other than vigilant. In the last three months since Rey has occupied the Oval Office, she has cringed too many times at demanding so much of her employees. When she looks at them, at the dark circles under their eyes, the growing size of coffee cups, Rey knows she works them harder than any President has before.

But that's just the curse of being a female in power. She has to be twice as good to get half as much done.

The Head of Security's footsteps click on the marble floor of the balcony, then fade as he stops a respectful distance away, waiting for her instructions.

"You have a law degree, don't you?“ Rey asks the man standing behind her. She doesn't need to look to know how straight his back is as he crosses his hands in front of him, or how his eyes watch her like a hawk.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She draws on the cigarette.

"And you worked in law enforcement?“

She shouldn't ask Secret Service agents personal questions. She shouldn't try to shatter the illusion that they are faceless, interchangeable cogs in a machine solely designed to keep her safe

Probably, behind his iron facade, he’s thinking the same thing, because pauses for just a heartbeat before answering.

“Yes, Ma'am."

"Where?" Rey asks and turns to steal a glance at her security detail as she puts out her cigarette in the ashtray. She knows all these answers, of course. She has Ren's whole file memorized.

His eyes are trained on her fingers while he speaks.

"I was a prosecutor in New Hampshire, Ma'am"

She hums in surprise. She – incorrectly – remembered Connecticut.

"How do you think I should decide on the latest prison reform?"

Ren flinches. A crack in the mask.

"Madame President, allow me to respectfully decline. Your advisors —“

" — they all want something," Rey snaps.

Ren swallows visibly.

Her father's temper surfaces at the worst moments…

"I'm sorry," she exhales, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. "I went to Wharton. Numbers, I can do. But law…" she gestures vaguely in the air.

Ren doesn't react. It stabs her in the chest. Although she logically knows that that's how he was trained… she just wants someone to talk to her as a person, instead of a title. A figurehead. Nobody told her how lonely it would be on the top.

She tries again — she knows she shouldn't. But she is somewhat tipsy and her grip on her self-control is slipping.

"I need someone who doesn't give a flying fuck about personal consequences and can give me an honest opinion. A real answer."

Is she pleading? Reasoning? Both?

Stop embarrassing yourself, Rey.

Instead she’s staring into his eyes – there is a hint of confusion in the dark, attentive gaze and possibly... concern.

Or maybe she’s just losing her mind.

"You’ve heard all arguments," her mouth argues, like a lunatic. "You swore to die for me, Agent Ren. You look like a man who can give me this. A simple, honest opinion."

Why does she want him to help her so much? He’s her Head of Security. His job is to keep her alive, not to voice private, unfounded opinions on subjects he has no idea about.

This is a gross, gross trespass of where their boundaries should be. What she’s asking of him, the way she is speaking to him... Were their genders reversed, there might well be a sexual harassment charge in the wind.

She knows all this, but… she just feels a overwhelmed. Claustrophobic.

She just wants to talk. Not order, or demand, or decide. A conversation with no stakes, no ego, no damn distant respect.

"My honest opinion is that I am not qualified to help you on such a matter, Madame President," Ren speaks measuredly, as if pacifying a ranting child.

With a huff at being bested at her own game, she turns away to knock back the last drops of her drink.

He must have made a splendid prosecutor, once.

" — but I will tell you what I think, if you really want me to. On one condition."

Her gaze snaps to him, noting the slight flush to his cheeks, the small change to his breath. He knows he’s out of line, that this is uncharted territory for the both of them.

But he is brave.

She adds it to the file in her head. Kylo Ren is brave.

"What would that be, Agent Ren?“ She asks benevolently.

Deep inside, it thrills her to have a form of resistance. Someone who tells her no.

"You go to sleep afterwards, Madame President."

Her lips twitch as she feels the first urge to grin in months.

"Feeling a bit patronizing today, Agent Ren?" She lilts, stepping inside the Oval Office. She sways, high on the hint of humanity he has granted her as he closes the door behind her. Silence falls on them.

"I feel like doing my job, Madame President," he answers softly.

Rey snorts.

"Your well-being is my job," Ren soldiers on. "Sleep is vital to well-being."

"Tell me more, Agent Ren!“ she sighs sarcastically, while dropping on the couch, kicking off her high heels and throwing her bare feet on the couch.

"Come on, have a seat, Agent Ren!“ she urges him. The second whiskey was clearly a mistake, but at this point she doesn’t care.

He cautiously arranges himself on the opposite sofa, somehow giving the impression of a high school senior in the principal's office. Except for the sharp black suit and the fact that his heavy body dwarfs the elegant couch.

Rey trains her eyes on the text in front of her.

"May I?“ Ren asks and reaches for a section within the stack.

Rey blinks as he grabs the long summary - startled at how he knows precisely where to look.

"Of course," she croaks.

The alcohol is making her eyelids heavy, but she shakes herself awake and continues to mine for meaning between the long sentences.

When she glances at Ren, she can see his brows furrowed, lips frowning in concentration. His eyes glide quickly over the text; far quicker than hers. Rey is a slow reader.

Some twenty minutes pass by; Ren hacking through the proposition and Rey stealing glances at him while fighting to stay awake. The birds chirp so loudly that even the thick windows of the Oval Office can't block them. The sunrays tint the sky to a heavy purple.

She stares at the sunrise; the clouds now playing in the color of guilt. God have mercy.

Ren moves and clears his throat.

"Yes?" Her voice is embarrassingly excited.

"I might have some… some opinions on this." His eyes latch onto the document like a lifeline. Seeing him nervous is a new experience for her. Ren is always collected, solid and impassive as a rock.

"Pray do tell me, Agent Ren."

He launches at her permission.

"Amendment three… I —I know this won't work. I have seen prisoners stabbed with a plastic fork. I'd say to work on this. And amendment seven, The NGOs will definitely come after you for this. Twenty might be questionable. It might infringe fundamental rights."

His mouth works uselessly, his brain visibly on hyperdrive, eyes flitting between words. His hands shake a little and Rey knows she has to put an end to this.

"Thank you, Agent Ren," she says softly. "Let's go to sleep and you can tell me the rest tomorrow."

"I'll be off tomorrow, Madame President," he points out, his amber eyes trained on her — and Rey tries not to wonder what he does on his day off.

She feels… defenseless when it's not him guarding her. Sleep comes a little harder, her anxiety mounts a little higher, worries intrude on her thoughts and decisions.

"Oh. Then… the next suitable time," she answers distractedly with a faltering smile.

His gaze takes note of that, too, before answering respectfully, "I will, Madame President."

They look at each other over the table for a few heartbeats, before he stands, buttoning up his suit jacket and placing the document back on the pile – and steps to help her up.

She takes his hand – warm and strong, and huge. Rough. A hand that could comfort or kill with equal ease.

Without her usual high heels, she stares at his chest. The dress shirt is a little wrinkled; otherwise he smells like clean laundry and starch, as if he was torn out of a magazine or wandered off from a runway.

These are things she shouldn't notice on such a conscious level, so she reaches for her stilettos, grabbing them by the heels and heads for her room. After the distance between them stretches to its usual length, she hears Ren follow. They walk until they reach her private quarters – where they part.

"Good night, Agent Ren," Rey says facing the door, not daring to look at him.

"Good night, Madame President," he rumbles, just when Agent Wexley enters the lobby. A change of guards. So it's 4 am.

Swiftly, as if caught in doing something illicit, Rey slips inside and as soon as the door closes, she slides to the ground.

She is beyond exhausted. Her hands shake. Behind the door, she hears the two men quietly converse — she has never heard them speak among themselves. Curiously, she presses her ear to the heavy oak door.

" — so long?“ Wexley asks.

"She’s working too hard," Ren grouses.

"Never said that about the last president, buddy," his subordinate points out.

"It's because he never worked this much," Ren counters.

"You do look like shit," Wexley concedes.

"I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I'll be on Hotline, Snap. Make sure —“

“— yeah, yeah, gonna guard your precious dove," Wexley teases.

"Watch your tone, Agent Wexley. Or I'll snap your neck," Ren warns. There is not an ounce of playfulness in his joke.

Still, Wexley chooses to ignore it.

"Ouch, the pun, Kylo. Go to sleep!"

There is no answer, just the clicking of Ren's heels. As his steps fade, silence settles on the lobby.

Rey drags herself to bed. Her make up artist will have a hell of a day tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment, let us know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> First giving credits where it's due: Thank you so much for [Erulisse17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erulisse17/pseuds/Erulisse17) for betaing this for us and [MyJediLife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyJediLife/pseuds/MyJediLife) for taking a look at the medical stuff. 
> 
> And then - turning now to you our lovely readers!!!
> 
> We are beyond excited to finally post this "notorious tweet fic" about President!Rey and Secret Service Agent!Kylo. Because there is a place for a lot of Bodyguard AUs here. :) 
> 
> How did you like it? What was your favorite part? 
> 
> Now some trivia!
> 
> [When did Rubicon aquire this meaning and what is that anyway?](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Rubicon)
> 
> [Is it legally allowed for a single woman to become POTUS? ](https://www.loc.gov/teachers/classroommaterials/presentationsandactivities/presentations/elections/requirements-for-president.html)
> 
> [What do you need to do to become a Secret Service Agent? Do you need a university degree? ](https://www.thebalancecareers.com/how-to-become-a-secret-service-agent-974620) (Spoiler: yes, you do and need to pass it with flying marks)
> 
> https://www.imf.org/en/About In case you are wondering what IMF is, check out this link


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